


shattered into ash

by facingthenorthwind (spacegandalf)



Category: Class (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, background acting choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:37:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8667931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegandalf/pseuds/facingthenorthwind
Summary: Charlie feels like he is made up entirely of small, aborted movements: reaching out as Ram faints, turning away as he spots the space where his leg should be, looking towards Matteusz for comfort before remembering that he is a prince (a king, now, since--) and has to remain strong, has to hold himself up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from bastille's _things we lost in the fire_

Charlie makes as if to turn away as the Doctor catches Ram. He feels like he is made up entirely of small, aborted movements: reaching out as Ram faints, turning away as he spots the space where his leg should be, looking towards Matteusz for comfort before remembering that he is a prince (a king, now, since--) and has to remain strong, has to hold himself up. 

As the Doctor ushers them towards his ship, Charlie hears the emergency crews arrive. He thinks for a moment that he should go speak to them, go assist -- but he is a student here, and the teachers are the ones with that responsibility. He is not a prince, not a ruler on this planet. The Doctor disappears with Ram and they all sit on the strange squiggly seating, each of them sitting alone, space to mourn and to sit with themselves and try to comprehend what had happened, but then Matteusz sits down almost on top of Charlie, without the two foot chasms that separate everyone else. There had been no discussion, but even so, Matteusz seems to adhere to the spirit if not the letter of the unspoken rules as he sits facing away from Charlie, leaning heavily on his shoulder but not looking at him.

Charlie had admired how Matteusz cheerfully took up space even in the face of his religious parents or the small handful of muttered comments about going back to where he came from (Charlie doesn't understand those, but also feels it would be improper to ask), but now Matteusz looks like he is making himself smaller, curling in on himself as he hunches over, one of his legs folded beneath him. Charlie doesn't know what to do -- about Ram, about the Shadow Kin, about the silence weighing over the room, or about Matteusz, but the pressure on his shoulder is an unexpected comfort. It reminds him that he exists, grounding him, like the hands he clasps between his knees. He thinks maybe he should put his arm around Matteusz, but he can't bring himself to move: everything feels like gravity has suddenly increased, his limbs impossibly heavy, so instead he watches the rise and fall of Matteusz's shoulders as he breathes, taking a small comfort in this incredible boy who had seemed to light up when Charlie had asked him to the prom; who had kissed him even after shouting angrily at his parents; who had, apparently, taken the events of the night in stride. 

A part of Charlie wants to rest his head on Matteusz and find reciprocal comfort, but then the door of the TARDIS opens and Matteusz scrambles to his feet. Charlie, for his part, still feels like the gravity is tenfold, and can only look up at the myth standing in front of him and feel unexpectedly cold at the loss of physical contact. As he slumps slightly with relief at the news that Ram would live, he feels the barely-there pressure of Matteusz's fingers and refuses to look back or to lean towards him; refuses to feel anything when those fingers slip away. He is a prince and this is his responsibility.

He rubs the fingers of his right hand, the ceremonial rings he once wore locked away at home.


End file.
